Pangs Of Conscience
by volley
Summary: Reed has a troubling dream then he has an accident. Both he and Trip are left with pangs of conscience
1. Chapter 1

An angsty story.

As usual, SitaZ and RoaringMice did wonderful jobs beta reading it. My thanks to both.

* * *

A man was standing in a corner of his quarters.

"David…?"

He was tall and lean. Thinner than he remembered. But the pitch black hair and green eyes were unmistakably David's.

"David, is that you? What… what are you doing here?"

David just stood there, motionless and silent. He looked straight into his eyes and his stare stabbed him, even though it held no accusation. Rather, it held a note of sadness that crushed his heart in an ice-cold grip.

Reed's eyes flew open. All he could hear and feel was his furious heartbeat. All he could see was darkness. He reached for the lights and turned them on with a shaky hand. Then searched with his gaze the corner where David had stood – it was empty. Of course. _What now, do you expect to see him there, you fool? It was just a dream_, he chastised himself.

He fell back on his pillow and focused on bringing his ragged breathing and fast pulse under control. That had been a strange dream indeed. He wasn't one to have very vivid ones, as a rule, nor was he easily frightened, or he wouldn't be an armoury officer on Earth's first warp-five vessel. But this… experience had left him deeply troubled. _Pangs of conscience_, he mulled bitterly.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the watch. Two hours, before his alarm clock was set to go off. He was too agitated to fall asleep again. He just lay there thinking of bygone days.

* * *

Reed's day had ended up being even more of a nightmare than his early morning dream. Despite his best efforts, he'd been distracted, and it had affected his performance. He turned a corner on B deck and stopped in front of a door. Looking around to make sure no one was coming he raised a hesitant hand to the bell. It hovered there for a moment. Then he shook his head and brought that same hesitant hand to his tired eyes, as he heaved a deep sigh. His feet may have carried him there – something of an achievement already – but his nature still would not let him go the next step. Yet he found he couldn't go away, so he just stood there like a statue. A moment later the door hissed open and Commander Tucker appeared in the frame.

"Hey, Malcolm. So you did get out of the armoury," Tucker commented cheerfully as he stepped out into the corridor smiling at his friend.

"Yes, well, for the moment," Reed replied without humour.

"Come on, then, or we'll be late," Trip urged.

He took a couple of quick strides, but when he realised Malcolm was not following him stopped and turned to the lieutenant. Reed was looking at him with a blank expression in his blue-grey eyes and a knitted brow.

"Late…?" Reed enquired. "Oh, right. Movie night. I had forgotten," he immediately added, uneasily.

"You think too much of those weapons systems of yours," Trip playfully rebuked him. "How can you forget 'King Kong'? It's a classic!" When Malcolm didn't move, Trip continued, "Come on, let's go. You're gonna like it, lots of action."

"Ah, no, thank you, Trip," Malcolm replied a bit too fast. "I still have a couple of things I want to take care of, and… Just go, don't let me make you miss the beginning," he finished with an undecipherable smirk.

Tucker puzzled over his reply. "Well, why were you outside my quarters, then? Is there somethin' you need?" he asked, taking a step back towards his friend.

"Nothing of any importance," Malcolm answered quietly, avoiding Trip's gaze. "Enjoy your evening, Commander," he said, and turned to go the other way.

"Malcolm!" Trip called to him.

"I'll tell you another time," Reed shouted over his shoulder, without stopping.

Trip stood there for a few seconds, wondering what the hell that was all about. Then he turned and hurried towards the mess hall.

* * *

Trip, his eyes on the screen, blindly took a handful of popcorn from the box Archer held out to him.

"Hm, that's a rather oversized primate," Doctor Phlox commented a bit too loud. "I'm not sure that, scientifically speaking…"

"Doctor," T'Pol, interrupted him. "This is a movie and nothing of what we will see tonight is likely to have any scientific base or be at all logical," she reminded him.

Archer and Tucker exchanged an amused glance.

* * *

Reed entered the firing range and saw, to his relief, that it was deserted. Not that he had expected otherwise. Most of the crew not on duty would be in the mess hall watching the movie. He couldn't think of anyone on board who would spend his or her free time shooting at a target. _You are indeed the only sod, Lieutenant_, he mulled.

He set up the target and began his exercise, but his shoulder was too tense and his mind wasn't on it. After thirty seconds he lowered the weapon and looked at his score, grimacing when he realised just how poor it was.

With a grunt of frustration he put the target pistol away and left the room, heading for the nearby armoury.

* * *

"Where's Malcolm?" Hoshi whispered to Trip, as she reached for some more popcorn. "I thought he'd enjoy this kind of movie," she added with a grin.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but he said he had somethin' to do," Trip whispered back. "You know him. He's even more of a workaholic than I am."

Hoshi nodded, her eyes and concentration riveted on the screen again, and Trip felt a twinge of remorse. Malcolm had obviously come to him for something. Having things to do was a blatant excuse and they had both known it; but the lieutenant was an expert when it came to slithering away from situations he felt uncomfortable with, and he had not been fast enough to corner him.

"He received a message from Earth this afternoon," Hoshi added, distractedly. "Maybe he wanted to reply to it."

Trip frowned, his attention no longer on the movie. He felt another pang of conscience and decided he'd pass by his friend's quarters after the show.

"Will you two be quiet or do I have to make it an order?" Archer bantered from the other side of Tucker. Trip grinned and focused on the screen again.

* * *

Reed entered the armoury and nodded to Ensign Müller, who was on duty. He glanced at his watch. "There is only half an hour left before you're relieved, Ensign. Why don't you leave a little earlier; I'll be in the armoury until Jonas arrives," he offered.

"Thank you, Sir," the ensign replied with a smile.

"Anything to report?" Reed enquired.

"No, Sir."

Reed nodded again and the ensign left. Malcolm went to the phase pistol locker and took out a weapon. Then he went to a desk and began to clean the pistol, working mechanically. He'd done that so many times that he could almost do it without thinking.

* * *

The comm. in the mess hall sounded and a moment later a crewman approached the Captain. "Lieutenant Martinez on the bridge wishes to speak to you, Sir."

Archer got up and quickly went to answer the call. "Archer."

"Sir, I have detected a detonation in the armoury," Martinez said in an urgent tone. "I've hailed them but got no answer. Internal scans show that there is a person there, the biosigns corresponding to those of Lieutenant Reed. I've already alerted sickbay and security."

"Thank you Lieutenant, I'll take it from there," Archer replied, frowning in concern. "Phlox!" he then called out. A few heads turned away from the screen as the doctor left his seat. T'Pol and Trip looked at the Captain with questioning eyes and Archer jerked his head, beckoning. They both got up instantly, Trip at a run; T'Pol following with measured haste, something only she could achieve.

"What's goin' on?" Trip asked as soon as the mess hall doors had closed behind them.

"There was a detonation in the armoury. Malcolm's in there, according to internal scans," Archer replied as he hurried along the corridor, followed by the trio.

"What?" Tucker exclaimed, feeling a shiver run down his spine.

"Doctor, sickbay has already been alerted," Archer continued, disregarding Trip's outburst.

They rushed the rest of their way to the armoury in heavy silence. When they got there, a couple of security men stood outside it.

"Report," Archer ordered while Phlox went right through the door without waiting for the answer.

"There was a small explosion, Sir. It appears it was an accident," one of the two answered. "Medics are inside, checking on Lieutenant Reed. Damage to tactical systems still has to be assessed."

Archer marched in, followed by Trip and T'Pol. Smoke still hung in the air and what had once been a cabinet was now a pile of contorted metal. Debris was everywhere.

Reed already lay on a stretcher, unconscious and bloodied, and Phlox was kneeling beside him with his scanner. Tucker ran to his side and paled.

"What the…?" he faltered.

"Doctor…?" Archer questioned tensely, as he took in the worrisome state of his armoury officer.

Phlox rose to his feet. "Let's get him to sickbay," he urged the medics. Then he turned to the Captain. "His injuries are extensive but I can't tell yet how serious they are. He was found under a considerable amount of debris and appears to have banged his head hard against the floor. Now, if you'll excuse me…" And Phlox hurried off after his patient.

"He came to me before the movie," Trip murmured to no one in particular, nervously passing a hand through his hair.

"What did the lieutenant want?" T'Pol enquired.

"I don't really know. He said it wasn't important, but…" Trip's voice died away.

"But?" Archer prompted.

Tucker hesitated a moment. "I got the impression he wanted to talk to me but had forgotten it was movie night and didn't want to spoil my fun. He looked somewhat… upset," the engineer said, regret clear in his voice.

"That may not have anything to do with what happened," Archer suggested.

"Somethin' was on his mind, Capt'n," Trip insisted. He swallowed, afraid to listen to a damn little voice that kept nagging him. In the end he just couldn't keep things inside. "Malcolm is good at his job. The best. He's not likely to cause an explosion accidentally. I mean…" his voice trailed.

Archer narrowed his eyes, not liking what he was hearing. "What exactly do you mean, Commander?"

Tucker looked at the Captain in anguish and murmured, "Maybe he was so upset that he did somethin' wrong."

"You don't mean intentionally," Archer asked gravely after a moment.

Trip pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Ah, no, I don't believe that for one second," he said, though his voice did not express as much certainty.

"Good," Archer replied firmly. "Because I don't either. This was an accident. We just have to find out what triggered it."

"Aye, Sir," Trip replied in a steadier voice.

"Now stop feeling guilty, Trip," the Captain said.

"The Captain is right, Commander. It is illogical to feel guilty when you do not yet know the cause of these events," T'Pol added, and her calm voice, more than any words, helped Trip control the turmoil that he felt inside.

TBC

A little review will make me very happy!


	2. Chapter 2

222

"It could have been much worse," Phlox said as he approached Archer and Tucker, who were waiting just outside sickbay. T'Pol had been sent back to the armoury to investigate the cause of the explosion.

"He suffered burns on his hands and arms, and numerous lacerations to his upper body, where pieces of metal became embedded," the doctor explained. "A couple of them came close to causing serious injuries. And he has a concussion. All in all he was very lucky."

"Is he awake?" Archer asked.

"Sort of," Phlox answered. Anticipating the captain's question, he added, "You may see him for a few minutes, Captain, but keep in mind that he will be confused. In addition to his concussion, he has a fair amount of painkiller in his bloodstream."

"Thank you, Doctor," Archer replied quietly, feeling very relieved. He turned to Trip, who still looked quite shaken. "I'd better go alone." Tucker acknowledged with a nod.

Archer followed Phlox inside sickbay, to a biobed behind a privacy curtain. Reed lay there with his eyes closed. His hands and arms, up to the elbows, were heavily bandaged. As was his torso, from what Archer could see of it. IV tubes snaked out of one arm, and a couple of bluish bruises discoloured his face. Archer put a hand lightly on his shoulder and saw the lieutenant's eyes crack open. After a moment they became focussed and a small frown creased Reed's brow.

"Lieutenant," Archer said softly, without humour. "You've got to stop giving me heart attacks."

Reed frowned a little more, then appeared to slowly realise whom he was staring at. "Captain," he croaked out. After a moment he weakly asked, "Bad?"

"Nothing that Phlox couldn't fix. But I'm afraid you've booked yourself a stay in sickbay," Archer said gravely.

There was a pause as Reed seemed to think the words over. "Damage," he then murmured. "How bad?"

Archer suddenly realised what Reed was talking about. "Oh, you mean the armoury." He heaved a deep breath. _I should have known_, he mulled. "Let's just say Trip and his team will have their hands full," he said trying to keep any inflection of reproach out of his voice.

"Sorry," the lieutenant whispered, closing his eyes again. "Don't know how… cleaning a pistol…" his voice died away.

"Don't worry about anything now, just rest. We'll figure out what happened," Archer said removing his hand from Reed's shoulder. Phlox had appeared again and the Captain knew what that meant: time to leave the patient alone.

* * *

"It appears Lieutenant Reed was cleaning a phase pistol when it exploded," T'Pol said, standing with her arms behind her back in Archer's ready room.

"Yes, but Malcolm has already told me this," the Captain replied in a slightly frustrated tone. "What I _want_ to know is why the weapon exploded. Was it something Reed did wrong?"

"I believe only the Lieutenant can answer that question, Captain," T'Pol commented, raising her eyebrows. "There just isn't enough of the weapon left to make any suppositions."

"And what on earth was he doing in the armoury that late?" Archer wondered aloud.

"Lieutenant Reed dismissed Ensign Müller half an hour earlier, saying that he would guard the armoury until Ensign Jonas came on duty. That was approximately at twenty-one-hundred hours," T'Pol reported.

The bell rang. "Come in," Archer called, and the door swished open to reveal a dishevelled Trip Tucker.

"The damage is less than it seemed at first," the engineer said, reading the question in Archer's eyes. "Still, it'll keep my team busy for at least a day. The good news is that tactical systems are all online. If you ask me, I think Malcolm realised what was going to happen and did his best to minimise the damage."

Archer heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair. His armoury officer was still alive and things looked better than he had anticipated. "At least some good news," he commented.

"Capt'n, is that all?" Trip enquired tiredly. "I'd like to pass by sickbay, before I get some shuteye."

"That will be all. But don't stay too long, it's late and you look in dire need of a good rest. And I already have one senior officer out of action," the Captain warned him.

"No need to worry, Capt'n," Trip replied with a grin, "I'm sure Phlox will boot me out after just a few minutes."

* * *

Trip drew the curtain gently, trying not to make any noise. Malcolm appeared to be asleep, his face turned slightly away from him. His breathing was somewhat faster than normal and his face looked a little flushed. Phlox had told him that the lieutenant had developed a fever, but it was only to be expected.

The medic sitting in the chair beside the bed got up and, after a quick check of the monitors, nodded to the Commander and left. Trip quietly took his place. He had been there for a few minutes studying the drawn features of his friend when he saw him stir. A low groan escaped from Reed's throat and his eyes slowly opened. He made to raise a hand to shield them from the light but the movement stopped in mid air when his gaze fell on the heavily bandaged limb. He looked at it for a moment as if in surprise; then let it fall slowly to his side.

"Malcolm?" Trip called softly as he lowered the lights a little.

Malcolm turned his head to face him. It took him a moment to find words. "Been here long?" he slurred.

"No, just a few minutes. How're you feeling?" Trip asked.

Malcolm seemed to give serious thought to the relatively easy and predictable question. After another moment he answered, "Not feeling much. Painkillers…" He closed his eyes again and frowned. "Bit confused."

"You've got a concussion." Trip bit his lip. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked, unable to keep the words inside. He badly wanted to know.

He saw Malcolm's frown deepen. Then, with an effort, the lieutenant opened his eyes again, but although he was looking straight at him it was as if he were transparent. For a few moments the silence was broken only by Reed's quick breathing. "Cleaning a pistol…" Malcolm then mumbled. "Done it so many times..." He brought a bandaged hand to his forehead. "Something was wrong… someone…" Reed's words died in his throat as he shook his head slightly.

"Was there someone else in the armoury?" Trip asked with a hint of concern. They hadn't picked up any traces of transports, but out there in space the strangest things were known to happen.

Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut and his breathing became even more ragged. "Don't know… No…"

"Don't worry about it now," Trip hastened to say, seeing his friend getting agitated. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Just rest. I'll come visit you tomorrow before my shift."

As he got up from the chair Malcolm mumbled, "Captain mad?" cracking his eyes open again.

"Ah, no," Trip reassured him. "You know him. He's just relieved that you're gonna be all right. Everythin' else can be fixed." By the time he was ready to turn and leave Malcolm had already dozed off.

* * *

He was smiling. A sad smile, but a smile all the same. Standing there in a corner of sickbay, he was looking at him and smiling. Before, in the armoury, his eyes had been wide with terror, but now they were filled with melancholy.

"David, why are you here?" Malcolm asked in awe. "You shouldn't be," he said, more to himself than to the man.

But David would not speak. He would not move. He looked at him with those soft green eyes that had conquered many a girl, and smiled his sad smile.

Malcolm stared at him, transfixed. Then the image began to lose definition, like when someone disappears through a transporter; but slowly, ever so slowly. And David moved. He raised his arms and stretched them out to Malcolm. His smile grew wider and more nostalgic. "Good-bye," he finally said, clearly. His voice brought back a whirlpool of memories.

"Wait!" Malcolm cried out, "There is so much I need to tell you!"

"Good-bye," David repeated, his voice fainter, his image fainter, his smile fainter. Then he was gone.

"Easy, Lieutenant, easy," another voice urged, as strong hands held him down. Malcolm's eyes flew open and he found himself drenched in sweat and with his heart pounding. Phlox's concerned face was right there above him. He relaxed his body under the doctor's firm grip, and sank back, closing his eyes again.

"Nightmare," he mumbled. "I'm fine," he added, wanting to avoid more medication.

"Let me be the judge of that, hm?" Phlox replied. He scanned him thoroughly and checked the monitors. "You still have a temperature. That's probably what triggered your nightmare," he reasoned aloud. "I'll just give you a very light sedative to help you sleep," he concluded.

"Please, Doctor," Reed pleaded. "No need."

Phlox sighed. Reed had always been a difficult patient. "As you wish, Lieutenant. Since you have a concussion it's actually better if you can do without sedatives. I'll give you something to bring down your fever. And I don't want to hear another word of complaint from you," he warned.

* * *

Trip had stopped by sickbay in the morning, as promised, but Malcolm had been sound asleep. His fever was down, apparently, and his biosigns were getting stronger. The doctor would begin dermal regeneration on his hands and arms in the afternoon and warned the engineer not to show up until after his shift, for his patient needed to rest as much as possible.

So Tucker had spent the whole day in the armoury, at the head of the engineering team that was fixing things up. Although only Malcolm could shed light on the mystery of what had actually happened there the night before, it was clear that the pistol had exploded inside a cabinet, destroying it completely.

Trip had taken a shower and changed. His mind kept going back to Malcolm's words. The lieutenant seemed to think someone else had been in the armoury. But no traces had been found of any other presence in the room. _Maybe he's just confused_, he mulled. _I still have to ask him why he came to my quarters last night_, Trip thought, instantly feeling remorse tug at his conscience again. Despite T'Pol's logic and Archer's comforting words, he felt certain his turning him down had something to do with the accident, and was almost afraid to find out.

* * *

The engineer left his quarters and headed for sickbay. When he got there he found Phlox busy feeding his menagerie.

"Commander," the doctor greeted him. "I was wondering when you would show up."

"How is your patient, Doc?" Trip asked with a tired smile.

"Impatient. Which, in Mr. Reed's case, actually means better. The Lieutenant is surprisingly resilient, I must say. I suspect he is able to accelerate his body's healing processes by sheer willpower, just to get out of sickbay as soon as possible," the doctor answered with a soft chuckle. "He is still in bed, but his fever is down and his injuries have started to heal," Phlox added, but his voice did not hold the enthusiasm that would generally be there when relaying such good news.

"So… what's wrong?" Trip asked, puzzled. "His concussion…?"

Phlox shook his large head. "No, he's fine, at least from a physical point of view - he will be, that is. But… he seems distant, troubled."

"May I talk to him?" Trip asked. "It might help."

"Go ahead. But please don't stay too long," Phlox reminded him.

Tucker went up to the privacy curtain and let himself in. Malcolm turned to him instantly and the hint of a smile appeared on his face. His features were still drawn but he looked more aware.

"You're looking better," Trip said.

"I'm feeling better," Malcolm answered.

"You'll be happy to know that your armoury is almost back to normal, compliments of yours truly," Trip said.

Reed heaved a tormented sigh. "I've messed up, Trip" he commented in a low voice. "The Captain ought to throw me in the brig." He tried to turn on his side but gave up with a grimace.

"D'you want me to raise the back of your bed?" Trip asked.

"That'd be nice, thank you," Malcolm replied. "Can't wait till I'm back in my quarters," he added with a lopsided smirk that held no humour.

Tucker adjusted the biobed. "That will be soon enough, I predict," he said with a soft chuckle. Then he turned serious and asked, "Have you remembered what happened?"

Malcolm lowered his gaze. "I was cleaning a phase pistol," he murmured. "But my mind was… not on the job."

"That's not like you, Malcolm," Trip said with a frown. But Reed continued as if he hadn't heard him at all.

"I can do that blindfolded. With my hands behind my back. Standing on my head," he said with conviction. "I had almost finished when…" Malcolm's words faltered and Trip saw him close his eyes for a brief moment against the memory.

"When?" he prompted softly.

"I… I noticed the pistol getting hot." Reed swallowed. "I think I inadvertently switched it on, but that doesn't normally make the weapon get hot. I don't know how that could've happened. That I switched it on, I mean. I switched it off, but the pistol was still overheating. I began to take the weapon apart. Quickly. It was getting hotter and hotter. Bloody fast too. My hands were getting burnt and my movements became clumsy."

Malcolm was looking at Trip with narrowed eyes, as if trying to make sense of his confused memories. "Something was wrong with the damn thing and I couldn't figure out what. I realised time was running short, that the pistol was going to blow up any moment, so I picked it up, ran to the far side of the armoury, shoved it inside a reinforced cabinet, and… well, just as I was closing the door the weapon went off and I was sent flying," Malcolm concluded in a low voice.

Silence fell between them.

Trip hesitated a moment, then decided to ask the loaded question. "Do you think… you might have done something wrong with the pistol while you were cleanin' it?" he enquired.

Reed thought long before answering. He raised haunted eyes to Trip's. "I don't know. I… just don't see how. Cleaning a pistol is quite a straightforward procedure. And when it was overheating and I began to disassemble it again, I still couldn't find what was wrong."

Malcolm now looked drained. Trip decided the conversation had been long enough and was about to get up when the lieutenant stopped him, adding feebly but with determination, "One of the components was acting up. I _know_ it. But I can't prove it." He gave a weak, humourless laugh. "The blast technically should have killed me, and that alone means something was faulty with the bloody weapon. The truth is… I was distracted and although I am certain I can take apart and put together a phase pistol even in my sleep, I can't swear I _didn't_ do anything wrong," he concluded in a voice that held a note of despair.

Trip felt a cold knot form in his gut. He turned the next question in his mind a couple of times, wondering if this was the right time to ask it. But he just couldn't postpone it any longer for his own sake as much as for Malcolm's. He put a hand on his friend's arm and went ahead. "Malcolm, when you came to my quarters last night, what did you want to tell me?"

Malcolm turned his face away and shut his eyes tightly. After a moment he replied, "Trip, please, I'm exhausted. Do you mind if we talk about this another time? I just… can't now."

"Sure," Trip agreed hesitantly. Then he added, weighing his words, "I only wanted to say I'm sorry if I let you down. I feel you needed me to be there for you and I went the other way."

Malcolm turned to face him again and his eyes held no reproach but, rather, confusion. He shook his head and murmured, "No, if I had asked you, you would have stayed. I know that, and you do too. It was I who went the other way."

Trip saw his friend's eyelids droop and then fall shut, and got up to leave, still feeling quite worried about his friend.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

333

Archer stepped out of the lift on B deck and headed for Malcolm's quarters. He felt unsettled. Two days had passed, the lieutenant had been released from sickbay and the Captain knew this conversation was due, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Trip had reported what Malcolm had told him, and Archer felt torn. He would never be the kind of captain Reed expected. Here was a man who considered it a punishable offence to be fifteen seconds late for duty. He didn't want to make an improper show of leniency, but neither did he want to act according to strict rule. Also, Phlox seemed to think that something was troubling the lieutenant. Trip too. And after all they had been through together Archer considered Malcolm a friend; a friend who, at the moment, apparently was a friend in need. As usual with Reed, though, he didn't know how to help him. He'd have to walk a very fine line. Well, here he was.

"Come," Reed's voice called, answering the bell's chime.

Archer opened the door and entered the pristine quarters of his armoury officer. Malcolm was sitting at his desk with a pad in front of him, and stood up clumsily at the sight of his CO.

"Please, Malcolm. You're not on duty," Archer said. Then he asked, "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, Sir, quite, thank you," Reed replied, and the Captain was pleased to notice that his voice was strong and clear.

The lieutenant was still standing, so Archer went to sit on the bed and gestured that he should return to his chair.

"Reading anything interesting?" Archer enquired, with a glance at the pad.

"Yes, well… at least for me," Reed replied with an awkward glance. "It's philosophy, Cicero's De Amicitia. 'On Friendship'," he added, as an explanation.

"Ah," Archer said, nodding.

Reed cleared his throat. "Captain, I suppose you are here to discuss the accident," he said huskily.

"I just want to see if we can somehow understand what went wrong," Archer replied, trying to sound neither harsh nor soft.

Malcolm turned to face him. "Sir…" he shook his head, looking for words. "As I told Commander Tucker, I can't really say. I would lie if I told you that I believe I did something wrong. But all I know for certain is that I was performing a delicate operation without paying the proper attention, and that is inexcusable." His gaze did not falter, but Archer could read in his troubled eyes that the admission had been a difficult one.

He studied him for a moment then asked, "Malcolm, what were you doing cleaning a phase pistol at twenty-one-hundred hours, after your shift had well ended?"

Reed lowered his gaze. "I…" He thought for a moment then raised his eyes again to meet his Captain's. "I needed something to do. I had received a message from Earth and was not in the mood for movie night."

Archer knitted his brow. So perhaps Phlox and Trip were right. "Bad news from home?" he enquired gently, hoping Reed would not take his prying the wrong way.

The lieutenant hesitated a moment. "My family is fine," he finally answered noncommittally.

Archer was at a loss. What was he going to tell Reed now? That he'd throw him in the brig? That he'd forget and forgive? Both options would be equally unacceptable, not to mention disappointing for the lieutenant, although he had no doubt which one the man would pick were he given the choice. _How about telling him the truth? _

"Malcolm, much as I would like to, I can't just let the matter drop. I'm sure you understand that I must report the accident to Starfleet Command and they will want to know what went wrong," he said squarely. "As do I, actually. I'm quite reluctant to believe that you, of all people, could have done something so inept as to make a pistol explode while cleaning it. But we need evidence. I have T'Pol working on it. I want you to contact her immediately should you remember anything else at all. I'll wait another couple of days before filing my report; I'm hoping something will come up in the meantime."

Reed averted his eyes. "I appreciate it, Sir," he replied. "But I'm prepared to face any charges you will feel appropriate to move against me. As I said, being distracted, especially in my line of work, is totally unforgivable."

"I must agree with you there, Lieutenant," Archer remarked, trying not to charge the words with too much accusation. "Still, you have a near-perfect record and I'm not eager to mar it. Fortunately no one was killed and tactical systems are intact. Trip and Phlox tell me you got your hands and arms burnt in an attempt to minimise the damage. That is commendable. If we can prove that the explosion was not a consequence of something you did wrong I am willing, for this time, to close an eye on your distraction."

Archer got up and Reed immediately followed suit. The Captain saw him stand automatically and somewhat painfully at attention, his eyes riveted to the far wall. He sensed the lieutenant was seeking comfort in that military discipline which was so deeply ingrained in him and for once the Captain felt touched – rather than annoyed – by the lieutenant's ways.

He reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Don't be too strict on yourself, we all make mistakes," he said to him, as he had already so many times. "Perfection does not exist in this world. Perhaps after we're dead, who knows… but not in this life," Archer added, and saw something cross Reed's eyes, but it was gone in a flash.

For a moment he feared he had said something wrong, for the lieutenant seemed quite unable to react in any way to his words. Then Reed nodded, relaxing his posture a little, and Archer felt a glimmer of hope that he had perhaps been able to reach out to him, though he couldn't figure out how exactly he had achieved that.

* * *

"Commander, do you have a moment?" T'Pol enquired, raising her voice just enough for it to be heard over the noise of the warp engine.

"Be with you in a minute," Trip answered, casting a fleeting glance in her direction from the raised platform in front of the formidable machine.

The Subcommander walked a few steps away and refrained from raising her hands to shield her sensitive Vulcan ears. A moment later Tucker was at her side, tugging her gently towards his desk, in a quieter spot of engineering.

"What's up, T'Pol?" he questioned. "It's not too often that we see you in the bowels of the ship."

"Commander," she answered, going straight to the point, "I believe we have found evidence that may free Lieutenant Reed from blame."

"What?" Tucker exclaimed. "That's great. What exactly have you found?"

"I asked the Lieutenant's SIC to check the other phase pistols in the armoury. Apparently a few of them had been replaced with new ones on the day of the accident. All of the new pistols have been found to have damaged power cells. They are from a supply that was stored in the cargo bay hit by an anomaly last year in the Expanse. That is what, presumably, damaged the weapons. One is missing, undoubtedly the one that exploded."

"T'Pol, you're a genius!" Trip said enthusiastically.

"I only used logic," the Subcommander answered with unimpressed calm.

"Have you told Malcolm already? Or the Capt'n?"

"I informed the Captain. He appeared to be quite pleased. He said he would 'leave the pleasure of breaking the news to the Lieutenant' to you." T'Pol concluded, latching her hands behind her back.

"Can't wait to do that," Trip said with a wide smile.

* * *

Tucker entered the observation lounge and looked eagerly around. He spotted Malcolm right away, for he was the only person there. Most of the crew were either having supper, or on duty. The lieutenant was sitting at a table, looking out of the porthole, absorbed in thought. He exuded such calm and quiet that Trip's ebullience was suddenly quenched down and the engineer almost felt like he was intruding. Then the thought of bringing Malcolm such welcome news provided the impulse to move forward.

He was almost at the table when he saw Reed shake out of his reveries and turn his head to him. Trip smiled to his friend and Malcolm broke into one of his puzzling smirks, which left the engineer wondering in what kind of mood he was, for his eyes remained quite stormy.

Trip slipped into the chair in front of him and the words he had virtually been rehearsing for the past few minutes all of a sudden remained bottled up inside: Malcolm's gaze was so intense and piercing that it commanded him into silence.

They remained like that for a long moment, staring at each other, with Trip trying to fathom the depths he saw in his friend's eyes. Finally Reed spoke.

"What do you believe happens to us when we die?" he asked softly.

Tucker leaned back, frowning. He hadn't come prepared to answer such weighty questions but Malcolm's gaze kept him pinned. He took his time to formulate an answer.

"Well, I believe a part of us still lives on," he replied in the end.

Malcolm nodded slowly, almost to himself.

"Why are you asking me this, Malcolm?" Trip gently enquired, feeling more than a bit intrigued.

"I had a… dream the night before the accident," Reed replied huskily. "I suppose there is no other word for it," he added as an afterthought, in a near whisper. "Someone was standing in a corner of my quarters. A friend from England."

"A friend?" Trip questioned.

Reed raised his eyebrows and gave a breathy little laugh. "Yes, I know it sounds odd, but I have… I had a friend back home."

Trip's eyes widened. "Ah, I never meant to say…"

"I know, don't worry," Reed interrupted him. "It's no secret that I'm not the easiest person to make friends with," he added with no hint of annoyance in his voice.

After a pause he continued, looking at the stars streaking past, "David and I were at school together. We both had authoritative fathers who wanted us to follow in their footsteps, and we both hated our predestined careers. I suppose that's what created the bond between us. I was to join the Navy, he was to become a doctor," Malcolm said with a soft snort.

Trip waited for him to continue, but the lieutenant seemed lost in his thoughts. So, after a few moments he asked: "What did your friend do, in your dream?"

Malcolm turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. "He just… stared at me and his eyes were filled with sadness." Trip saw him swallow past a lump in his throat. "I was deeply upset by that. He seemed so utterly sorrowful. I woke up with a start," he concluded, averting his eyes again.

"Sometimes dreams can be weird," Trip offered, seeking to bring some comfort and managing only to find commonplace words.

"They certainly can," Malcolm commented bitterly. "That afternoon Hoshi gave me a message from Earth. It was from my sister. David had died in an accident the day before," he murmured painfully.

"Died…?" Trip asked in a faint voice. A moment later realisation dawned on him. "That's why you came to me that night," he said, and the blush that coloured Reed's cheeks confirmed his guess. "Ah, why didn't you tell me," he said gravely. "I would've stayed with you, Malcolm."

Reed pulled a wry face. "Seeing that in the end you didn't get to watch your movie anyway, I suppose it would have been wiser. But you sounded so happy that I didn't find it in me to spoil your evening."

Trip shook his head. "What are friends for, then?"

"Indeed," Malcolm commented, and his voice was tinged with anguish. "After I joined Starfleet, it wasn't long before I lost touch with David. I knew from my sister that he eventually bent to his father's will and went through University; became a damned doctor like his old man wanted. We just… were no longer in contact. Entirely my fault, I'm afraid."

After a pause he burst out, "I should have written to him. I knew he wasn't happy. I should have…" His voice faltered.

Trip reached out and put a hand on Malcolm's arm, careful of his injuries. "Is that why your mind was not on the pistol you were cleanin'?" he asked, and saw Malcolm shut his eyes tightly in self-disgust.

After a moment he opened them again and murmured, "I saw him again, in the armoury. When the blast hit me and darkness began to engulf me he was there, his eyes wide with alarm. He never moved, never said anything. Just stared at me in terror."

Trip saw Reed's jaw clench and muscles tense. The lieutenant shifted in his chair, wincing, and Tucker realised this conversation, liberating as it may well be, was costing his mending friend quite a bit of physical and psychological discomfort.

"The person you mentioned you weren't sure you'd seen…" Trip remembered. "I thought, then, that you were confused because of your concussion."

"I was, sort of," Malcolm replied, staring at his still bandaged limbs. "I was feverish and could not figure out if I had seen him physically in the room with me, or after I had lost consciousness, in my imagination."

"And then, in sickbay, I dreamt of him one last time," Reed continued, his breathing coming faster. "He finally spoke to me."

"What did he say?" Trip asked.

"Good-bye," Malcolm replied numbly. "He stretched his arms out to me as if wanting to touch me, and began to disappear, smiling a sad, nostalgic smile. I haven't dreamt of him since."

Trip saw his friend shudder. He didn't know what to say to him, so he just sat there with his hand on Malcolm's arm.

"I should have contacted him, in all these years," Reed murmured, lifting his eyebrows and shaking his head. "Now that he is gone, there are so many things I would like to tell him. How much his friendship meant to me. I don't believe I ever told him that. After all the hours we spent dreaming of where our lives would take us… making plans of how we would escape from our fathers' clutches, I got to follow my dream and just… forgot about him," Reed said with a snigger of self-loathing. "He came to see me off when I left for San Francisco, happy to know that at least one of us would achieve his goal in life. That was the last time I saw him. In person, that is…" he concluded, staring out of the porthole with dark eyes.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Do you think what you saw was a… ghost?" Trip asked.

Malcolm hesitated before answering. "I don't know what to believe. I just know what I told you. I dreamt of him and then received news of his death. And then I dreamt of him again, and he was saying good-bye," he said quietly.

"Well, it's not as if we haven't seen any strange things out here." Trip replied, almost to himself." Then he added, "Look, Malcolm, let's say that it was actually your friend, visiting you in your dreams, it means he felt the bond still existed between you two," Trip suggested. "If you ask me, it means he felt your friendship was important. From what you said it sounds like he was pretty distressed when that explosion injured you. Life does that to people sometimes, draws them apart, physically or even in a more profound way. It's normal. And it's not as if you've been on a pleasure boat. The kind of lives we've recently led would make anyone get distracted in their relationships. But your friend knew you hadn't _really_ forgotten him, just pushed him in the back of your mind, so to speak. He came to you to say good-bye. I think you should feel good about it, cherish the memory."

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Malcolm broke the silence again. "That last time, in sickbay," he murmured as if thinking aloud. "He was smiling at me. A sad smile; but still a smile." He paused. "I hope that he is happy, wherever he is now. Perhaps he has found the perfection we strive in vain to achieve in this life." There was another pause, then Malcolm turned much clearer eyes to meet Trip's and added, "Thank you."

"Any time," Trip replied sincerely.

Tucker waited a few moments then gave Reed one of his sunny smiles and said, "Hey, I have important news for you, Lieutenant. I bring you good tidings. T'Pol has found that the new phase pistols in the armoury all have damaged power cells."

Malcolm regarded him with a blank stare. After a moment he stuttered, "What? How is that possible?"

"Those weapons were stored in the cargo bay that was hit by an anomaly, last year in the Expanse. T'Pol believes that's what damaged them," Trip explained. "And the best news is one is missin'," he concluded wagging his eyebrows meaningfully.

"So… the pistol I was cleaning…" Reed's voice trailed. He closed his eyes and leaned back, relief clear on his face.

"I say this calls for a little celebration," Trip said happily. "I think I have just what we need, stashed away in a secret place in my quarters," he added mischievously.

The corners of Malcolm's mouth turned up slightly. "I can't get pissed, Commander. In fact, I can't even indulge in one innocent little beer. I'm still under medication and Phlox would chop me into pieces and feed me to his bat if I did," he replied with a smirk.

Trip frowned playfully. "Spoilsport," he commented.

"But don't let me stop you," Malcolm added. "I can always celebrate with some tea, provided I manage to hold a cup, with these lovely Tutankhamen-like hands."

"Now, you're talkin'. Come on, then," Trip said, starting to get up.

"Trip," Malcolm reached out with a bandaged limb to stop him. He looked uncertain, and Trip sat down again, regarding him in concern.

"Are you ok?" he enquired.

Malcolm nodded. Then he took a deep breath. "This experience has taught me in more than one way. I cannot know what life might bring me tomorrow, or even in an hour," he said in a firm voice. "So, before I make the same mistake twice, I want you to know… your friendship is important to me, and I am grateful for it."

Trip smiled. "Same here, Malcolm," he replied.

The door hissed open and Captain Archer appeared.

"Gentlemen. Good thing there are internal sensors, or I'd still be looking for you," he said with a grin.

"Uhm, Capt'n, there are also comm. links," Trip replied raising his eyebrows.

"Thank you for reminding me, Commander," Archer bantered. "But I wanted to see Malcolm in person and didn't think it would be nice to make him walk all the way to my ready room, since he's still convalescing."

"I would have come, Captain," Malcolm replied, instantly rising to his feet. "I'm really not that badly injured. Oh," he suddenly remembered, "I must hurry to sickbay for my evening session of dermal regeneration, or Doctor Phlox will skin me alive. Uhm, no pun intended."

"Yeah, you'd better not make the good doctor wait," Archer agreed with a chuckle. "I just came to say that I'm glad I won't have to throw you in the brig," he added with a genuine smile. "I knew you couldn't have blown up a phase pistol _by mistake_," he concluded, stressing the last two words.

Reed tilted his head, blushing slightly. "Thank you for your trust, Sir," he said. "I too am quite relieved to know that I'm still capable of cleaning a phase pistol without blowing up the ship," he added with a lopsided smirk. Then, more seriously, he added, "This won't happen again, Captain."

"I'm counting on it, Lieutenant," Archer replied.

"Mind if I join you after sickbay, Commander?" Malcolm then asked, turning to Trip.

"Of course not," the engineer answered.

Reed nodded to his superiors and made to leave. When he was half way to the door he stopped and turned again. "Captain…" he said.

"Lieutenant?"

"Thank you, Sir."

Archer knitted his brow. "What for, Malcolm? You have already thanked me."

"Something you said to me. And for being the Captain you are, Sir."

Archer opened his mouth to say something but no words came out, and a moment later Malcolm had already reached the door and left. He turned to Trip, finally finding his voice again. "Are we sure he is all right? I mean, concussions can be nasty things," he commented gravely.

Trip burst out laughing. "He's fine, Capt'n, don't worry."

THE END


End file.
